


the hedonic treadmill

by galaxyeyedrops



Series: fluctuations [1]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: M/M, its not kinky I swear, nothing actually physical, spoilers for stride gate 46
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 08:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7928272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyeyedrops/pseuds/galaxyeyedrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shinonome Shouma wakes up to white walls, the smell of disinfectant, and a pair of handcuffs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the hedonic treadmill

**Author's Note:**

> this is an unedited, written in the middle of the night, mess. i dont know man, i dont know.

Shinonome Shouma wakes up to white walls, the smell of disinfectant, and a pair of handcuffs. 

Within fifteen minutes, he discovers that these are a very good pair of handcuffs, solid steel with an incredibly short chain and padded so that any and all possible bruising will be of his ego. 

In the next twenty minutes, he discovers that he really doesn't know how to pick its lock.

Shouma contemplates looking it up on the internet but whoever had dumped him in this hospital had taken his clothes and cell phone with them, leaving him in a cheap breezy gown instead. 

Fortunately, the nurse call button is close enough to his free hand to press easily and a series of fake coughs work in lieu of an actual emergency. 

The nurse, herself, shows up in record time, quickly enough for Shouma to reconsider his stance on this establishment’s customer service policy. 

She doesn't even blink at the presence of the cuffs, heading straight on over to draw blood and check his vitals instead. She does everything quickly and efficiently, holding a menu in front of his face when she's finished. 

“You'll be good to eat solid food tomorrow,” she says in reply to his raised brow. “But until then, stick to other things.”

He selects the miso soup (with no rice unfortunately) and a side of pudding for dessert. She raises his bed, offers him his glasses (no thank you, people tend to underestimate him without them on), and leaves, telling him it'll be ready in fifteen. 

Shinonome Shouma sits back and waits. 

 

In exactly fifteen minutes and thirty two seconds, Shouma’s food arrives. And with it, Ibuki Kouji. 

“Come to visit your former pupil?“ Shouma asks as Ibuki sets the tray on a nearby table and pulls up a chair. “How gracious of you, to set our differences aside like this.”

“This isn't a social call,” Ibuki replies, sitting stiff and straightbacked. “I'm here about Company and the Kiba Association.”

Shouma flinches at the name, but smooths his expression out quickly enough. 

“Ah,” Shouma says, raising his left hand, showing off the handcuff that has him chained to the bed. “So the reason for this present?”

He jingles them for good measure. 

“Yes,” Ibuki says. “We needed you to stick around long enough for this talk.”

“Then,” Shouma draws his free hand out and leans down in an imitation of a bow. “By all means, continue.”

Ibuki clears his throat and leans forward, hands on his knees. 

“While we do have Myoujin Ryuzu in custody, he refuses to release the identities of any of his co-conspirators.”

“And you need me for that?” Shouma cuts him off before he can continue. 

“Let's see,” Shouma raises his free hand to eye level. “Chouno Am is cooperative but doesn't know much.”

He raises a finger. 

“Yumizuki Luna and Moriyama Hiroki are also cooperative but they know even less.”

He raises two more. 

“And Wakamizu Sousuke and Enishi Satoru know a bit more but aren't willing to cooperate.”

He finishes off the hand. 

“But, of course, you knew about all of them already. What you want are the names of people who got Myoujin Ryuzu started on this path, the donations received outside of Kiba Corp.”

“And?” 

“And I don't think you can give me a reason to, Ibuki- _ san _ . It shouldn't have been long enough for the Board to vote me off as CEO. And there isn't enough evidence to really build a case against myself.”

Ibuki nods, unsurprised. “You were prepared for Myoujin to fail.”

“Hypothetically.” He grins, all teeth. 

Ibuki pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, he gets up after a moment and heads to the door. 

“I'll be back on Wednesday, at four,” he says, before stepping out. 

(“I'll make it worth your while” remains unsaid but not unheard.)

 

Shouma turns to his meal, uncovering the dishes quickly and efficiently. 

He raises the bowl of miso soup to his lips. 

It's cold. 

He pushes the tray away, soup unfinished, his pudding unopened. He changes the angle of his bed so he can lie down properly. 

Despite his best efforts, Shouma does not fall asleep for hours afterwards. 

(And when he does, he dreams of falling rocks.) 

 

Shouma will admit, when Shion told him that he never despaired, never really lost, he was right. 

Shouma grew up the only child of an upper middle class family. His parents were both professionals but always made time for him. They provided for him, encouraged him, believed in him. 

(There was nothing to complain about and yet…) 

When he was five, he realized that his little jump skips into the future, his  _ visions,  _ weren't exactly normal. 

When he was six, he learnt that people didn't really appreciate being told the future. 

When he was seven, he wanted to know  _ why _ . Why did people do certain things? Why they think this? Why did they react like that? 

By the time he's fifteen, he's read every psychology, sociology, and philosophy book he can get his hands on. 

(It gives him insight, yes, but is that all he really wanted?) 

By the time he's sixteen, he starts playing vanguard and realizes that his power is not enough. 

Those few disjointed glimpses into the future don't tell him enough, don't tell him what he needs to know. 

So, Shouma learns to work backwards, figure out people to predict what they're going to do next. He researches, learns about their dreams, their fears, why they do what they do. 

He ruthlessly manipulates them, crushes each and every one of them underfoot. 

(And for the first time in his life, feels pure unbridled  _ joy _ .) 

At eighteen, his name, his team's name is synonymous with strength. He is treated like a king, people bend over backwards to accommodate his requests. 

He researches every opponent. 

He wins every fight. 

(There are others, of course, like Ibuki and Kanzaki that he'll definitely lose against. But that's the skill gap talking, he may not be able to face them as he is properly now, but  _ soon _ …) 

At eighteen, he faces Kiba Shion, a boy seemingly perfect on the outside, but fraying, being torn in different directions on the inside. 

(And Shouma holds the scissors. It's the least he can do.) 

As usual, Shouma wins. He talks and exploits and wins. He sleeps peacefully knowing that Kiba Shion will never pick up a deck again. 

He is wrong. 

Shinonome Shouma is still eighteen when he loses to Kiba Shion. 

(He loses, and is  _ wrong _ , his future is  _ wrong _ . His status is gone. His win streak means nothing. It's unprecedented, unexpected… 

And the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to him.)

When he is nineteen, Myoujin Ryuzu asks for advice. He asks him which companies would be good to take over, to funnel funds through. 

Shouma thinks of carefully parted hair and determined blue eyes. 

 

 

There are bruises that litter Shouma’s body, big ugly purple things that ache with every movement, sting at every breath. 

The nurses carefully apply salve to each one at multiple points in the day, they tsk at his ever-present handcuff, reminding him that taking his medication into his own hands is not the way, warning him about how easy it is to overdose. 

He nods, says the appropriate things at the appropriate times. 

Wash. 

Rinse. 

Repeat. 

The time passes by achingly slow and Shouma waits and waits and waits. 

He waits, keeps on waiting until Ibuki stands outside his hospital door again, this time with a friend. 

Shouma’s heart stops the moment he catches sight of shoulder length blond hair. A grin immediately takes over his features, within seconds he's laughing. 

It hurts, _burns_ , he's coughing, it's wet, somebody's calling the nurse but Shouma doesn't care. 

**Shion is alive.**

Good as new too, despite all the odds (was it the system that saved him? did it protect one of its chosen, the ones that rejected it?), Shion is alive with little to no harm visible. 

There's a nurse in the room now, someone sounds frantic, how strange, don't they realize how wonderful this is? How amazing Shion is to defy fate at every turn, to cheat death itself? 

There's a drink held out to him, straw millimeters from his mouth. Shouma drinks gratefully. 

That is, until he realizes that someone is ushering his visitors away. 

He immediately spits it out. 

“Wait,” Shouma rasps, drink shoved aside and forgotten, reaching for Shion with his free hand. He doesn't care if he's played into Ibuki’s trap, he knows what he wants. 

“One game. Every week. These are my conditions.”

They look at each other quickly and Shion nods. “You have my word.”

They are forced to leave right after, though, but this time Shouma is more compliant. 

And that night, for the first time in days, Shinonome Shouma sleeps peacefully.

**Author's Note:**

> im...probably gonna do a continuation to this, except like shion gets to do more than not punch the crazy man who ruined his life, also yknow an actual explanation why he seems to be perfectly fine


End file.
